


Minds of Their Own

by TheInternationalAffair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brothers, Dogs, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2371550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInternationalAffair/pseuds/TheInternationalAffair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Accidents happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minds of Their Own

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so, sorry I thought of this fic. And I am so, so sorry I wrote it.  
> -TIA/Megu

Gilbert stares at the glass screen. He can see his frown reflecting upon the background of this phone, but it does nothing to turn his expression into a happier one.

"I can’t do this," he grumbles, hand now struggling to decide whether or not to his phone back in his pocket, "It’s just going to be a bad time." He shuts his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the burning of tears welling up at the corners.

"It’s going to be a bad time no matter how you do it, Gilbert," the man’s father reprimands him under his breath, never lifting his eyes from his paper, "And you were the one who suggested to let Ludwig know as soon as possible."

"Yeah, no shi-"

Now Mr. Beilschimdt’s eyes are set firmly on Gilbert.

"I mean, yes, Sir Father dearest, I did suggest such a thing—" Gilbert finds himself choked up. "I. I just can’t stand to see his face over— over these sorts of—Fu—Frick."

The older man sighs, and his long, blond ponytail almost seems to wilt, sturdy back leaning a little deeper into the chair. Gilbert’s leg starts to thump, sneakers scuffing the sterile-smelling carpet, his eyes fixated on his brother Ludwig’s icon on the contacts screen.

————-

It had all started out so fine earlier that Friday morning— So fine, in fact, that Gilbert even woke up five minutes earlier than his usual 7:30 am wake-up time (a miraculous habit he had still maintained from high-school into his third year of college), just enough to see off his little brother before he went off to school for the day. Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster had thundered up the last few steps of stairs Gilbert had to take to reach the kitchen, tongues dangling sloppily from the corner of their mouths and ready to greet Gilbert with wet, excited kisses.

First came Aster, the smallest of the three, who started off early to beat out her larger competitors to circle around Gilbert’s legs as his feet touched the wooden kitchen floors. Prim, proper, but still excitable, Aster leapt up and pawed at Gilbert’s jeans before Mr. Beilschmidt snapped his fingers and whistled, signaling the black and golden Dachshund back into the elder man’s lap as fast as her short legs and small, elongated body could take her. The oldest dog would naturally be the favorite of the oldest man in the house, and it was no secret that Mr. Beilschmidt, despite his everlasting frown and his hard-lined face, had a soft fondness for the small toy dog.

Blackie, meanwhile, didn’t wait for Aster to make her rounds before his pointed black ears perked up and he firmly planted his paws onto Gilbert’s shoulders to slurp up any of the excess oil on Gilbert’s acne-ridden face, nearly knocking him back onto the stairs. Gilbert laughed and nuzzled Blackie nose-to-nose, scratching the back of the German Shepherd’s ears and scratching the larger dog’s copper belly, while Berlitz weaved around both of them to nuzzle at Gilbert’s thigh before running back to Ludwig, who was quietly eating his scrambled eggs at the table next to their father.

Gilbert didn’t mind it much, nor did he take particular offense; all three dogs had their own favorites, and it never meant that they disliked anyone else in particular; they just had one or two people they liked better. If Aster liked Mr. Beilschmidt better, then Blackie felt likewise of Gilbert, leaving Berlitz, the fluffy golden Hovawart, to Ludwig.

And yet, all canine preferences aside, not even Gilbert’s camaraderie with Blackie, nor the gentle, silent love that Aster and Mr. Beilschmidt had for each other could quite compare to that of Ludwig and his beloved Berlitz.

Berlitz had come at a time when Gilbert had been much too concerned with keeping his face constantly covered in mud and his mouth constantly filled with juvenile vulgarities to be able to take on the taciturn seriousness of the younger Ludwig with brotherly, welcoming respect.

Ludwig would come home from Fraulein Martin’s fifth year classroom with a quivering lip and down-turned head, ignoring the guffaws and jeers of a younger Gilbert welcoming his “geeky loser baby brother” home. At first, he’d let the elder boy push him around. After a few months, however, Ludwig had learned to ignore any bizarre object Gilbert and his friends chucked at the younger boy and headed straight upstairs to finish his assignments ahead of time and curl up in bed with his DS. Except to take up his dinner plate or make small talk with his father (or to argue with the obnoxious older brother in the room right next to him), Ludwig kept mostly to himself.

~

It was a couple weeks before Christmas vacation when he’d finally leave his room at home— A Monday, to be exact.

That was when Mr. Beilschmidt’s stern, gentle voice called the boys down from their Pokemon Ruby games to introduce a small, fluffy, flop-eared pup squirming restlessly in the man’s stiff arms.

Gilbert scrunched his nose, hugging the “tougher and much cooler” Blackie, and Aster had already fallen asleep on one of the couch pillows.

Ludwig had no sooner than ten seconds placed the sleeping pup in his lap, letting his fingers glide over its golden tufts, hypnotized into staring fondly at the new resident.

Through smug smirks and ruffled silvery hair, Gilbert could still see that Ludwig was happy for once—or rather, he wasn’t sulking over his textbooks with a constant frown. If it meant that his little brother was starting to have fun for once, he could give Ludwig a break once in a while from now on. 

~

It didn’t take long for Berlitz to become an official member of the Beilschmidt family. Even when Ludwig’s voice went from a squeak to a low grumble, every morning Berlitz would come down the stairs with Ludwig as if he were leading royalty before breaking into a run towards the two dogs already waiting down stairs. He’d sit at Ludwig’s feet while the boy ate breakfast, sitting up only to beg for the strips of bacon that’d come with the food now and then until Mr. Beilschmidt called him over to his own dish of kibble.

Berlitz would chew thoughtfully at his meal until the slightest shift from Ludwig’s seat indicated that Ludwig was about to leave, at which he bolted towards the door to the garage to see him out. Occasionally, if Gilbert came down at the right time, Berlitz would make a detour to rub against Gilbert’s legs, but the Hovawart always heeled first to strict Mr. Beilschmidt, though his word couldn’t hold up to Ludwig’s all the same. Only Ludwig had the final say on what Berlitz could and couldn’t do, and when Ludwig was around all hell broke loose with the youngest dog of the Beilschmidt family. When Ludwig wasn’t there to take Berlitz on walks or wrestle with him, the other two Beilschmidts had trouble keeping Berlitz in line, Blackie and Aster sometimes joining in on the chaos. Gilbert always thought of it as their way of showing affection to Ludwig’s “subordinates,” and let them do as they pleased. Dogs had minds of their own, after all, didn’t they?

Gilbert didn’t know for sure until he backed out the driveway too fast on a chilly Friday morning, only hours after Ludwig had left for school.

———————————————————-

The older boy can only stare at the carpet for so long when suddenly he finds his hand clamped over his face, his whole body shaking under the wing of Mr. Beilschmidt’s steel arm, shaking his head over and over.

It can’t be. It shouldn’t be. And most of all, how could he?

"It’s all my fault," he chokes out, now starting to sniffle, too. "It’s all my fuckin’ fault. I’m so sorry, Vati, I fucked up and now I can’t—”

Mr. Beilschmidt firmly presses his hand against Gilbert’s back.

"It happens." Gilbert can swear that there’s a quiver in his father’s voice. 

His neck stiff, Gilbert lifts his head slightly to look at his phone again, but he can barely see the smiling faces on his phone background through his tears. There they are, Him, Ludwig, Blackie, and Aster. 

And Berlitz looks back at him the same way he had that morning.


End file.
